“‘My dreams haunt me night and day,’ he cried. ‘To still this wild, fierce throbbing of my heart I must have that grave opened, and gaze once more upon all that remains of my loved and long-lost bride, sweet Evalia and her little child.’ He was––”
Birdie never finished her sentence.
A terrible cry broke from the housekeeper’s livid lips.
“My God!” she cried, hoarsely, “after nearly seventeen years the sin of my silence is about to find me out at last.”
“What is the matter, Mrs. Corliss? Are you ill?” cried the startled child.
A low, despairing sob answered her, as Mrs. Corliss arose 146 from her seat, took a step or two forward, then fell headlong to the floor in a deep and death-like swoon.
Almost any other child would have been terrified, and alarmed the household.
Birdie was not like other children. She saw a pitcher of ice-water on an adjacent table, which she immediately proceeded to sprinkle on the still, white, wrinkled face; but all her efforts failed to bring the fleeting breath back to the cold, pallid lips.
At last the child became fairly frightened.
“I must go and find Rex or Mr. Hurlhurst,” she cried, grasping her crutch, and limping hurriedly out of the room.